The Island

Sky west and crooked, that’s where you’ll find me.
Wallowing in the shallows of a spirit so deep.
No man is an island, yet here the land mirrors my form.
Hewn coarsely out of limestone and chalk, strong and cratered like the moon.
You may cast you anchor down to my sandy soil.
Hoping to raise your flag and conquer me.
As you explore what you think you now possess.
But a volcanic change of thought will turn these tables.
Collapsing all that lies in reach.
And we shall sink, beneath the waves of our doomed Atlantis.
To be spoken of in awe by those who follow our demise.

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Latch

The door is swinging, wide and heavy on its fastening.
Through it comes the night, the eerie mist of maddening intent.
The latch is forever broken, letting in the misery.
Sounds of hell and voices of those I love.
Or have loved, for the door does not discriminate.
It sends in souls and sounds that would rock such a fragile house on sticks.
Memories to twist and turn the rooms upside down.
And rain to lash at these windows inside.
Like tears on a mirror, slipping down the pane.
The latch unhinged, dusty and broken like an unwound mind.
Rusty and obsolete in its current state.
Squeaking it’s lament and apathy.
A quick fix, a drop of oil.
To keep the ghosts and the monster at bay.
Out in the other land of nightmares.
While I try to re-arrange this room of dreams.

Exuberant voices

The crystal bell in this head rings out.
Shattering the dark, sending the bats into flight.
Cavernous places these thoughts do dwell.
But the night light beckons and calls.
Whispers catch on the summer breeze.
Emerging back into a world unfamiliar.
They trickle down the spine, in thoughts so sublime that they leave me restless.
Waiting for the tide to turn.
How they put up streamers and plait the hair of my age into golden weaves.
Singing me to sleep with their lullabies.
These exuberant voices compete to lift this heavy spirit.
Bringing the heavens and the sky down to me.
But back in that cave, behind the rocks and darkness.
Lies a thought, a niggling worm at the core of me.
Now asking, these voices I hear; why are there more than one?

You are my religion

I feel your skin, soft and silky like bible pages.
Precious-sacred, and containing such wonder.
The church of your heart tolls the bell in my soul.
Calling me to prayer.
Forcing me to bow.
Anointed, and blessed while you crucify for a kiss.
Keeping my faith locked like a secret only I will know.
You are my religion.
Knowing I’ll always be devout.
Hallelujah.

Infractuated

This is where the call came in.
21.09 as the tables turned.
Nothing learned, and feeling fine.
It got a little cold out there baby.
Running the whole world on your lie.
Catching time, trying not to try.
But your control used to cover you.
Now it rolls you over, and you try to let go.
But no.
She wants a little more than you offered.
Coming now to pay the piper.
That pound of flesh you carrot dangled.
Creating such frenzied envy.
And now, here comes that awful feeling.
Smudged with eyeliner and regret.
And as your mouth rolls fables like marbles.
The truth with whisky garbles, like a politician camera posing.
I know you see her. I know you wonder how it will end.
In the end, you lose.

W/B – Fishing for light

To read the previous installments, click here

It was not the nature of the lady of the jars to be idle. Though she lived a somewhat idealised life, she was never one to shy away from work. Though her magical abilities helped in many ways, she believed hard work and action were the ways to get things done. She respected the powers that had come alive within, the knowledge that had been entrusted with her. Which is why she was keen to spring to action in helping the girl who had fallen from the stars.

There in her small kitchen, she watched as the girl curiously looked over her book of magic, wondering what they could both share with one another before the end. For she knew an end was coming, and every end had a start.

“Right, I think we’re going to need a little bit of help.” She said, looking deep into the azure wells that seemed etched with blue veins, the lamp light catching her eyes in a hauntingly special way.

“What do you mean?” the girl asked, no fright or reservation gave way in her voice. Just curiosity.

“Well, though we are protected here in my little cottage; and the snow will offer us more protection, there are things outside that I’ve begun to notice that might try and make things a little tricky for us.” The lady said, looking out the windows into the darkened grey beyond.

“Where are we going then?” The girl asked, holding her wrist the lady noticed, her hand spread like a small mirror. The lady hesitated.

“Do you sense them too?” the lady asked suddenly. The girl blushed purple, or seemed to blush, for she was actually in the process of travelling beyond the walls of the cottage. Projecting a version of herself outside to look around.

“I see a man, and things I do not know of.” The girl replied, the colour draining now away from her face.

The lady sighed slightly.

“He will never learn I fear.” She said, going over to the window to take a look for herself. But the snow was thick and heavy, and obscured much of her view. She turned back to the girl. “We need to go to a place where the energy centres collide. We need to conjure something which is much beyond what I can store in a little jar. It’s a place not far, at the centre of the forest. There is a clearing and you will feel it before you see it. It’s a very special place but I’m afraid it does not hold the type of protection my cottage has. This energy, this magic is not owned by anyone. It’s powerful and magnificent. Like the electricity that runs in the big cities. Anyone can tap into it. We can light a room or power a bomb, it’s how we use it that matters.”

The girl looked on, thinking suddenly of her home planet Europa. Where the ice coral was used to power and give life to the subterranean cities. This power was never abused, but cherished; a blessing that had come to them. And then she remembered the coral she had taken the day she left. That which she didn’t need but had spirited away with her. Why she had, she still was unsure of. Something within her had told her to. The same conflicting voices that sometimes forced her to act in ways she knew were different from everyone else.

“Are you okay?” the lady asked. Noticing how the patterns on her skin had changed suddenly, taking on a metallic colouring, covering the skin in an almost armoury sheath.

“Yes, I’m fine honestly. Sorry, I was thinking about something…..This place we need to go to, is it far?” She asked.

The lady watched as the metallic colours shimmered away, and the aqua blue hues began to dance and sway once more. She was concerned, it was the first moment she had seen as if the girl was frightened.

“No, it isn’t far really. But we will need some help to get there, and to shake off that man who is outside and who you have now seen. He’s the gentlemen of the boxes and he thinks you are here to help him with something.” She said.

“Can I help him?” The girl asked.

“Yes, you can. But you shouldn’t my dear. For what he wants helps no-one but himself. Before this is over, I think he will learn perhaps the biggest lesson. For wheels are in motion now that cannot be stopped, even if the destination is still unknown.” She replied, going now to the cupboards in her pantry.

“Oh, I see. It’s funny how we slide so precariously on destiny’s string.” The girl said. The lady turned and smiled at her.

“Indeed, destiny brought you here. And it’s destiny that we can still have a hand in. Come, there are things to be done.” She said, grabbing a bag that was tucked away under one of the chairs. “We need a few things, but I must quickly go and wake Ezra.

The lady of the jars opened her front door, pushing aside the drifts of snow which had built up during the day. Out of habit, she kicked off the snow which had collected over her doormat, revealing a ‘Welcome’ that had been hidden by the snow that the overhang had failed to protect from. Stepping outside, she got a greater sense of what was now out here. She had known the gentlemen of the boxes was around, she had sensed him earlier. But now she felt something else, and she reached quickly into her pocket and took out two coloured vials. They glowed there in her hand and in the dark. She took the red one and popped the stopper out with her thumb. The contents rushed upward and dispersed into a small cloud in front of her. In the blink of an eye the red vapour sped away and around the house. It collected back in front of her and she could see then in the smoke what it was. They had left their mark, staining the ground and the space where they had been.

“Dimian” she said, her breathe dispersing the red cloud in front of her which drifted quickly up into the sky, lost suddenly the in the snow which continued to fall. Dimian were old, ancient creatures which dwelled in the ground. They weren’t necessarily bad creatures, just all consuming. They gobbled and swallowed all the power they needed for their epoch slumbers, consuming vast amounts of previous ancient magic to keep themselves sustained. They did not discriminate on who or what they devoured. The Lady of the jars had her own protections against these creatures, but the sheer number of what she had seen in the cloud gave her pause for thought. Clearly the landing of the girl, and her cosmic concentration had woken them, fuelled them to seek out this treasure trove of power. She would have to be careful.

Inside the cottage the girl went about collecting the items the lady had asked for and adding further layers to her clothes in preparation for their journey. The lady now walked swiftly to the middle of her garden and took the other vial she had in her hand. This one glowed strong with a yoke yellow light. She reached a mound in the middle where a small stature of a boy stood, a fishing rod holding up a huge lantern that flickered out a warming flame in the dark. This was one of her protective elements to her cottage. The boy stood as a guardian, casting his light and power around her little home. But he could also do more than that. She cracked the vial over his head, sending the snow that had collected there up into the air like yellow dust. The vial smashed, but like that of an egg, as the yellow contents dripped down his head and covered his body. With a final flash of light the stone broke away and the boy came to life.

“Ezra, good to see you.” The lady said, as the boy swung the lantern on the fishing pole over her head.

“Brrrrr, it’s always so cold! Don’t you ever have a taste for warmer climates?”

The lady laughed. “Well, you are only wearing pyjamas. But you know me…” She said, a twinkle in her eye.

“That I do.” Ezra said, smiling a little and looking around. “Which usually means there’s a perilous task me for me, right?”

“Got it in one, but this time there is a damsel in distress.” She said.

“Really. Well, I would have put you more in the spinster in danger category myself.” Ezra said, putting the fishing pole under his arms so he could rub his hands together.

“You know, I could move for a more Grecian theme to your statured state, sans pyjamas!” she said, mockingly. Ezra looked around into the billowing snow.

“Alright, alright. Who needs saving this time?” He asked.

“Come, you can meet her and then I’ll show what we need to do.” She said, taking the fishing pole from him and opened the little door on the lantern. She tipped out a little flame which she hurriedly captured in a bottle she retrieved from her pocket. And placed it on the ground where Ezra had stood just before. It glowed in the dark and gave a warmth which melted the snow slightly around it. Looking like a sparking amber jewel in a sea of white.

to be continued…. 

Swallowing tomorrow

Who reads a smiling poet’s words?
Ones that bridge the chasm from heartache to heaven.
Do you care to wash in the tears of the lonely?
Or splash yourself in city rain, dirty from the walk of life.
These moments we catch and keep.
Lock inside where the heartbeats remind us we’re still existing.
Coveting and creating.
Moving and replacing like tectonic continents of sorrow and elation.
Self-serving commotion in a noisy crowd of others.
Screaming to be heard and praying to be forgotten.
Who wants to read a dead girls dreams?
Slashed away like the wrist on a foggy November.
Or trapped in amber to survive generations.
We are the pendulum kids, swinging from north to south.
Mouth and eyes open to catch it all and swallow as we fly by.
With tears in our eyes; not knowing if their happy ones or sad.

Heroin(e)

Fire crack cackle in hushed shadows.
Little fingers about to be cut off.
What you say makes me shudder.
A creeping shiver left at the side of the bed.
A mind now full of kitty litter.
With the life looking and an ache to scratch.
Weakness, tossed out like surprise.
Sweetness that came in like a hammer to the glass heart.
Lick me up like spite, with a malice reduced down into silver spoons.
As I fall away from you.
And watch you choke on words and not loneliness.
It moves now in to post-blue passive aggressive.
Feeling the testosterone in our bones.
Angry, because you wanted it this way.
Embattled and emblazed with the world shouting us as well.
Waiting for the silence to once again smother our fires.

Palpate

To make you consider, that what I see is real.
To crack this skin like a mirrored pain.
A reflective love dancing on the wings of happiness.
Clouded and scorched.
Licked and honoured.
A crumpling vision of everything.
Tapping now at this skull.
Did I force you to reconsider.
What treasures remain.
Whether it’s me, happy inside you.
Or just a vast ocean of pain.

Engulfed

Coming up for air, and stealing the sun.
How long can I live underwater?
Pushed to drowning by the weight of your departure.
Collapsing like time.
Peeling the skin off my life like the rind off an orange.
Covered in mess. Bloody and sticky.
Yet nothing washes away.
Nothing drifts, except the pain into tomorrow.
And once again I’m fighting for air.
Alone, battling the waves.

You won’t, but you might

Please don’t hurt me, you don’t understand.
It’s my heart that is beating, bleeding there in your hand.
And forgive this emotion and whispering plea.
But it longs to be loved, not stamped and set free.

As it’s nearing the end, the potential is high.
For it to crumbled right there, and for this dream to die.
So I ask you again, as I would an old friend.
To think for a moment, to heal and then mend.

Then keep it safe in your heart, swimming in blood red and dark.
A scar on your soul, as we fade and grow old.
Then kiss me and say, you’ve decided to stay.
And all the shadows you will chase away.

A Vulgar display of gratitude

From the light, to return to the luminous.
Stuck temporarily in the prison of earth.
But these bars are golden.
These chains are studded with diamonds.
Like frozen tears of god.
We flutter on the eternal, like the birds rustling in the trees.
Leaving feathers of time behind and staining history, reminding the past that we flew.
Soaring, tumbling and splintering the great beyond.
So do not frown at the darkening sky.
But be thankful of the threatening rains to wash all this away.
For we have spent so long in the desert, picking over each grain of sand.
Holding them up to the sun to see the universe within.
The sunlight with signify, capture and purify our days spent.
Marking each on with a rebirth and departure.
As we sail in-between, on a sturdy ships of dreams.
Reaching the never ending shores of the incomplete.
Falling off the ends of the earth.
This earth, this state, this grounded place.
Is here to test the spirit and liberate the soul.
So give thanks to the world that is dark and foreboding.
One which seeps in like oil to the heart.
And bow, and pray and thank the creator.
For giving us the chance to spread these heavy wings.
To soar up and switch on the light.
And bathe us once more in golden fires of the absolute.

Under October sky

Beneath the quietening of this heart.
Cracks a thunder, like an electric storm.
Stinging my teeth while the haemoglobin clouds roll on.
You came searching for me.
Under that October sky that fell down like sympathy.
White sheets stained red and corridors that endlessly led,
to nowhere.
I cannot see all of you in the slit through my eyelids.
While my bloodstream is awash with dizzying correctives.
Which condition should I wear?
Is this but a dream spun from those salty lips?
That kissed me last night as I climbed the walls once more.
Doubtful, for you were gone.
A room devoid of your expansive endurance.
Which explains the circumstance.
The sad tale of happenstance.
Which led me down here.

Play dead

She lay there, with a bullet in her heart.
A world away.
A smile apart.
Reaching and tempting the heavens down.
A shuttering shame.
Like tears on a clown.
For there never was a heart at all.
No righteous tumble.
Or martyred fall.
Or even a god to share the pain.
Just empty prayers.
A messiahic shame.
For all these things played out in her head.
So she lay there silently.
Playing dead.

Savage reconstruction of self

Through heavy storms this heart doth beat.
Battle born and weary.
Feathers frayed liked angelic irony.
Patched and nearly severed.
Where do you go to be reborn?
While wolves lick between your teeth.
And though pregnant hopes swell and ebb.
Through cobweb sticky emotions, and distance in your eyes.
The cries of sincere doubt corrode quickly in your salty waves.
Smashed into pieces upon your unwelcoming rocky shore.
Yet something crawls out of the ocean.
Something that slayed the terrors of the deep.
To reach up and scale that towering mountain.
That you placed there to warn those out to sea.
Of how close to god you now sit and suffer.
How away from us you wish to be.

Thorned love spined

I found myself reaching for you.
Closing the gap between half worlds away.
Pulling space into my back pocket.
Keeping god under my gums.
You pull away and shake off the stardust.
Tugging the thread of the religion we wove.
Spinning out like the solar system.
Cutting me like thorns.
Yet beauty always seems to dance in the distance.
Unobtainable like the rings around Saturn.
Like the rose, once plucked will swiftly start to die.
So I will not house you in glass jars.
Or swirl you inside me like marbles in time.
You can bloom and fade on your own as I watch from a distance.
Seeing Saturn return into space.
Remembering how sweetly you smelt that summer’s day of mine.